On Pantries
Or, how to read labels better
I discovered something last week.
Or rather, I was introduced to a new way of looking at things—things I thought I already understood as an adult.
Take a look at any item in your pantry—the familiar nutrition label is there. It lists the calories, fats, carbs, and protein amounts.
All the things we should read, but rarely do.
But you may have noticed something new: some labels now come with two columns instead of one.
Ever wondered why two nearly identical products might have two different panels?
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The Illusion of Choice
Truthfully, I never gave it a thought.
I assumed that’s just the way it was—or perhaps that one company was simply being more transparent.
“Yay for them,” I thought. “I’ll buy from them instead.”
It turns out I was completely wrong.
The truth is both frustrating and revealing.
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The Label’s Hidden Meaning
Under updated FDA guidelines, any food product containing more than one but fewer than or equal to three servings must now display nutrition facts for both a single serving and the entire package.
In other words: the reason for the second column is that the company expects you to eat the whole thing in one sitting.
Disturbing, right?
Or, as the official phrasing goes:
“This new requirement allows for the fact that food products with three servings or less may be consumed in one sitting.”
Translation: we’ve built our food system around the assumption of excess.
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The Culture of More
I know—it seems silly to devote an essay to this.
Especially when many people struggle to buy food at all, while others in power treat hunger as irrelevant and an afterthought of policy wrangling.
But that’s exactly why it matters.
It’s troubling that we’ve reached a point where companies expect us to overeat—where we design, market, and package for indulgence, not nourishment.
We live in a culture that prizes fullness over sufficiency.
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Bigger Plates, Bigger Appetites
This isn’t just about labels.
Our portions have grown, too.
Since the 1970s, Americans have faced a double push: more calories in the food supply and steadily larger portions on the plate.
Take 7-Eleven’s Big Gulp.
Launched in 1976, it held 32 ounces—already a novelty.
Today, customers often reach for the 44-ounce Super Big Gulp.
The same inflation shows up in restaurants.
At Texas Roadhouse, the 6-ounce sirloin is the top-selling item by volume, yet servers routinely nudge customers toward steaks two to three times that size.
Because, as the saying goes, bigger is better.
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Discipline in an Age of Excess
In a world built on marketing and overconsumption, making mindful choices can feel almost rebellious.
So how do we reclaim control?
In a word: discipline.
Yes, it sounds old-fashioned, but it remains one of the most radical acts available to us.
Every spiritual and philosophical tradition—Stoic, Buddhist, Christian—centers on the ability to choose one’s way in the world.
Carl Jung captured this tension perfectly:
“The world will ask who you are, and if you do not know, it will tell you.”
So, each of us must decide—to act with mindfulness, and yes, to eat mindfully, too.
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The Lost Art of Satiety
Where do we begin?
By reading—not just our food labels, but ourselves.
We’ve lost touch with the feeling of enough.
The concept of satiety—that subtle moment when body and mind agree they are full—has been drowned out by distraction.
We eat in front of screens, scroll through meals, and barely register flavor or fullness.
And then, inevitably, we overeat.
We binge.
We promise, “next time, I’ll do better.”
And the cycle repeats.
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The Weight of Excess
Seneca warned of this two millennia ago:
“By overloading the body with food, you strangle the soul and render it less active.”
Even then, he saw what we see now—the spiritual dullness that comes from constant indulgence.
Our ancestors wrestled with the same struggle: to eat enough without being consumed by appetite.
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Closing Reflection
Each of us must find the balance that works best.
Perhaps the words of another Stoic, Musonius Rufus, offer a way forward:
“The most useful foods are those that can be eaten without fire, since they are also most easily available—fruits in season, some green vegetables, milk, cheese, and honey.”
He wasn’t prescribing a diet; he was describing a principle—harmony with what nature offers, when it offers it.
Maybe that’s the quiet rebellion we need now:
To eat what’s in season.
To live within reason.
And to remember that nourishment, not indulgence, is what sustains us.